


Among the Stars

by viceroy



Category: DCU, Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Choking, Dubious Consent, Facials, Frottage, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 12:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5248250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroy/pseuds/viceroy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The rising and falling pressure against his eyes and eardrums are his wind. The language the pilot understands can be broken down into three distinct dialects: yaw, pitch, and roll. The stars that inspired him from above are now around him, can spin and dance to his delight with the jerk of the yoke in his hands. For others, peace is static. For the pilot, he never found peace until he learned to make the static dynamic."</p>
<p>Or, Sinestro and Hal learn better ways to solve their differences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Among the Stars

The night is silent, save for the low whisper of wind running through grass and the buzz-chirping of insects in the night, crying out to one another in signals that only they understand. Stars blaze in the dark sky, igniting the imaginations of dreamers in serenity so rarely found in urban areas. It’s picturesque in a way few get to experience without managing to disturb it merely by their own presence.

Alas, such pockets of perfection rarely last, and all fall silent for a more wondrous appearance in the night sky. A flash of green pierces the night sky, then another playing back and forth. The steady whisper of the wind gives way to the roar of jet engines, the small animals scattered by the force of a sonic boom low to the ground. If anyone else were here to witness the scene, perhaps they’d be stuck between outrage and awe.

Not for the pilot, though. Many have tried teaching him the beauty in such quiet, but adrenaline was bred into his life for as long as he can remember. The rising and falling pressure against his eyes and eardrums are his wind. The language the pilot understands can be broken down into three distinct dialects: yaw, pitch, and roll. The stars that inspired him from above are now around him, can spin and dance to his delight with the jerk of the yoke in his hands. For others, peace is static. For the pilot, he never found peace until he learned to make the static dynamic.

Regardless, these details are ancillary at the moment, for he is that green flash. Well, one of them, at least. His focus is on the other one right now, trying its damndest to evade him. It’s good, using its much smaller frame and agility to its advantage. The pilot’s never been led on such a merry chase before. The pilot’s better, though.

The HUD flashes a lock, green light on a green target, and the pilot grins. Too long has the other eluded him, taunted him with assumed superiority and now, all he has to do is unleash the full might that this craft has at its disposal. _Do not hesitate_ , his quarry insisted. _You will need all the help you can possibly get._

If that’s how he’s gonna play it, then fine. The pilot presses the ignition. Twin missiles launch from their bays and roar after their target. The adrenaline ramps up in his veins. The other may be good at a lot of things, but in the sky, in _this_ sky, the pilot is king. Nothing’s going to get in the way of him, especially not this up-jumped asshole who’s haunted the pilot’s every waking moment recently.

The pilot watches the proceedings with almost a sadistic sort of glee as the other weaves up and down, rolls and attempts to get away, but as the pilot surmised earlier on, it’s not good enough. The primary closes in on the other, followed closely by the secondary. It’s all his attention’s on as the other finally lights up from the explosion. The pilot whoops his victory-

-But has barely any time to savor it as an emerald streak rockets from the explosion, whips around-

-Lands on the Plexiglas of the cockpit. Gold and black eyes stare down at him with a victorious smirk-

-And the pilot can do nothing as he watches tendrils of light snake out from the other and wreak havoc on the hull of the craft, tearing apart panels and fuselage. Before the pilot knows he’s truly lost this encounter, he’s buffeted by explosive force. The fuel lines have been compromised-

And he’s falling, falling. There’s no concussion. Thankfully the pilot had enough foresight to put up a shield around himself when the other decided the game was over. But it isn’t enough, apparently. He can’t save himself. He can’t focus clearly enough to do even the most basic of life-preserving actions for the blood rushing from his brain in freefall. He can’t breathe properly for the altitude.

Not the worst way to go, though. At least he died doing what he loves best. He lets himself slip into darkness…

-

The first thing that comes to the pilot’s mind is that he isn’t dead. Sore as hell, yes, but dead? Well, if this is the afterlife, then the pilot wants his money back. Slowly the pilot opens his eyes with a grunt and sees that he’s on solid ground. Heat from a nearby fire overheats one side while the chill from the open air of the night keeps the other side freezing cold in comparison. He sits up, wobbly, and takes in the rest of the world around him.

On the opposite side of the fire is the other, watching the flames with intent. For a moment the pilot is taken aback by the appearance. He can never get used to how large he and his kind are. The other easily towers over the pilot, nearing seven feet, and the other’s height is _average_ among the males of his people. If he were human, he’d be a lanky thing, all arms and legs and completely awkward. Not so for this man. The bulk of his muscles are considerable, but till somehow slender. Gold and black eyes regard everything around him with a gaze that lets nothing escape. His skin looks almost rough, weathered red that seems closer to a rose color. He isn’t handsome by any sort of human standard, but who needs to be? His presence is magnetic, the pilot can’t deny that.

The pilot hates him.

The pilot admires him.

“I weep for this planet and the sector at large if what I just saw is the best you can do,” the other remarks at last. He doesn’t even look at him. It puts the pilot on edge. “Kilowog spoke so highly of you, too. Hal Jordan, a worthy successor of the great Abin Sur. Military, and a pilot, no less! Imagine my surprise when I was given _you_.” The other finally looks at him as he finishes his statement.

Hal bristles at the insults and perches forward. “I managed to keep up with you today, didn’t I?”

The other quirks an amused eyebrow at Hal’s words. “If that’s what you imagined was the case, you really do have much to learn. You can’t think when the pressure is upon you-“ Hal snorts. The other continues on heedless. “You can act, but when it’s time for you to react, you fail utterly, Jordan. I wonder how you managed to learn to fly, much less gain Abin Sur’s approval.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re taking all of this way too seriously, Sinestro!” Hal gestures upward into the sky. “I just barely got the damn thing. Do you really expect me to be as good as you are that quickly? Get off my ass, already.” He stands up then, his heart pounding with the criticism. It helps, actually. Makes Hal feel more grounded. He checks to see if the ring’s still on. Before Sinestro can get anything in edgewise, he takes to the sky, trying to let himself cool down.

Once again, he doesn’t get to go far. From the periphery of Hal’s vision green flashes and he’s jerked back suddenly. He slams into the ground none too gently with Sinestro standing over him with a look of disgust on his face. “I don’t expect you to be as good as me. That will _never_ happen. However, Kilowog endorsed you and allowed you through his training more quickly than anyone I’ve ever heard of. With his dying breath, my closest friend gifted _you_ with the most powerful weapon in the universe.” He tips his head slightly and chains form around Hal’s wrist, jerking him up onto his knees. Hal swallows roughly and forces himself to look at this man who’s been forced to mentor him.

“Instead, I get a man who acts more like a child, who doesn’t understand the meaning of the term ‘versatility’, and barks back at any sort of help I offer.” Hal snarls and rushes forward in an attempt to slam into Sinestro, but he falls flat on his face before he can get more than a foot. Groaning from the pain, he looks back only to see his ankles now have manacles on them as well.

“Fuck you,” Hal spits out at the man as he realizes his mobility’s being robbed of him. Sinestro steps forward and leans over. Hal feels a hand wrap through his hair and yank up roughly. He bites back he yelp that fights to be let out, opting instead to glare venomously at the alien who’s so easily kept him down. He tries for another punch, but the action is aborted as his entire body moves with it. Hal chokes for a minute, and Sinestro smirks.

He’s been put in stocks.

“As I was saying before you decided to have your little tantrum,” Sinestro begins, yanking the ring from Hal’s finger. The uniform vanishes and Hal’s left naked with a noise of protest. All Sinestro does is look him over with a snort before continuing. “Kilowog and Abin Sur see some sort of potential in you. Even the Guardians do, for some godforsaken reason. All _you’ve_ been thus far is a disappointment, Jordan. Not even because you’ve done nothing but be a petulant child who thinks he’s better than he is, but because at times, I can see that potential, too.”

“Give me my ring back, asshole,” Hal growls out. Sinestro shakes his head in reply.

“Not just yet.” He palms the ring for a moment before slipping it on his own finger. “You could go far in the Corps, Jordan. But you need a guiding hand. At any moment you could have slipped those bonds, but never took the opportunity. Another disappointment. Luckily for you, I’m willing to be that guide. But first, you must _learn._ ” Sinestro yanks at Hal again with another rough tug and Hal finds himself splayed over the man’s lap. He tries to fight, but the bonds are too good.

“What the hell are you doing, freak?!” Hal flushes with embarrassment and Sinestro clucks his tongue.

“Our first lesson, and one that’s taught well on Korugar,” Sinestro forces him so that his ass is in the air. An overly large hand smooths its way over the curve of his ass and Hal shudders. “If you’re to be in a position of command, you must learn to be hard. Keep the people who would rise against you cowed so they never have the thought to do so. Spare them the rod, and their retaliation is assured.” It’s the only warning Hal gets before the alien raises his hand and brings it down, hard. A loud SMACK resounds on the plain and Hal jumps in his lap with a grunt. “And an unruly child should be disciplined.”

Hal can’t even protest that much. The pain is spectacular, both a blunt force and a sharp sting. Even if he wasn’t focusing on the blows, any time his thoughts come together, he’s met by another sharp slap. Heat wells up on the skin of his backside as well as his face, with the breeze only mildly cooling him down. It spreads throughout his body, and all Hal can do is whimper loudly in embarrassment. He shifts, trying to get off of Sinestro _somehow_.

Sinestro seems to anticipate this, though, and holds Hal, tight. “This isn’t something you’re getting out of quite so easily.” His voice is practically a purr. The Korugaran is warm around him, firm. And like this, the cockiness erased, he even seems tolerable. His anger starts to bleed out, and he becomes pliant in Sinestro’s lap. “There you go, Jordan. Accept it. Let me shape you, and you could be a beautiful thing yet. Something to be _feared._ ” He caresses Hal’s tender flesh and brings his hand up once more. Hal quakes in anticipation. “Count for me, Lantern.”

Smack! 

“One.” The number’s breathed out. Sinestro’s laugh rumbles through Hal. Smack! 

“Two!” His breath hitches, and he can feel his blood moving to his cock. Smack! 

“Th-three!” He buries his face against Sinestro’s leg and pushes his hips back just in time for- smack! 

“Four!”

SMACK! 

“Five!” His voice goes up an octave and he feels Sinestro’s legs part, only slightly. His hand comes down again, this time pushing his pelvis into the space created before he closes his legs again. Hal shudders when he realizes his cock is trapped in the crevice between Sinestro’s legs.

SMACK! 

“Six,” the number turns into a moan as the force of the blow causes Hal to inadvertently rut into Sinestro’s thighs. 

SMACK! 

“Seven.” the word’s hissed out, and he can feel it now, pressing against his own cock. Sinestro’s just as turned on by this as he is.

SMACK!

“Eight!” It’s rougher than the rest. Hal yelps and pushes himself deeper, trying to get some kind of pleasure. Sinestro’s hand comes down again, but not in a spank. The hand rubs back and forth along the burning heat of Hal’s ass. His breathing calms and Sinestro continues to play there. He offers no sort of reassurances, no praise for Hal not fighting it and it makes the young human feel empty.

“And now…?” Sinestro asks expectantly.

“Thank you, sir,” Hal breathes out.

The only warning Hal gets is that the bonds are there one minute, and in the next they’re gone entirely. His vision blurs and with a hard _whump_ Hal’s back is slammed against the ground. Sinestro’s straddling his waist and in that gold and black gaze there’s fire. Hal’s eyes widen. He thought that was supposed to be it. He’d been good, hadn’t he?

“What,” Sinestro breathes out, “was that?”

Hal can’t tell the mood of his companion anymore. He doesn’t know what to say or do to make it better. He looks away, unable to bring himself to meet the intensity of the other’s gaze. “I…thanked you,” he finally admits, and feels the shame well up with it. That’s why Sinestro’s disappointed, isn’t it? He broke too soon. Of course Sinestro would prefer the fight.

Hands trail up Hal’s torso and he can’t help but watch, too fluid to even want to put up a fight. Red hands and black nails fascinate Hal as they move up his belly and settle on his collarbone. He looks up at Sinestro and the intensity is still there, but what he thought was anger is something else entirely. Perhaps it’s fascination that Hal sees in his eyes. Sinestro’s uniform fades away and Hal is enraptured by the vision of the nude alien before him.

Sinestro looks much the same as any human beyond the skin color not found on Earth and the noticeable size difference. The man’s scarred and there isn’t a bit of unnecessary fat Hal can see. He isn’t using any constructs and still Hal can feel the strength in his light grip. Even if he wanted to fight, getting the upper hand against him would be a struggle. He continues taking him in, enjoying the view of Sinestro merely _breathing_. It’s a fascinating contradiction, mildly erratic and completely betraying the calm that Sinestro’s exuding.

Sinestro leans in, and suddenly Hal finds it harder to breathe. His eyes widen at the realization and he directs a surprised look at Sinestro, who pays it no mind. “I’m not often a person someone would call delicate, or even indulgent.” His voice is low, and there’s a shift in Sinestro’s voice. It sounds strange to his ears, but he hasn’t known the Korugaran long enough. “And you, Hal Jordan, are the first person. The _first_ to thank me. For a _punishment._ ”

Hal chokes a breath beyond Sinestro’s grip. His throat shifts desperately under his hands. Sinestro inhales and Hal wants to kill him for that. It feels like a taunt. He bucks his hips, trying to throw the larger man off of him. Sinestro immobilizes him. Not with any ring construct or threat, but by simply lowering his body on top of Hal’s. Pressure’s put on Hal’s diaphragm and his lungs start burning. He can feel himself starting to waver back and forth on the edge, and Sinestro grins at him, the bastard. “Don’t be alarmed, Jordan,” he says lowly. There’s something seductive in his tone that pierces involuntary panic welling up. His hips begin to move, torturously slow, and for the first time Hal notices how _big_ Sinestro is, cock against his own. The sensation, the lack of air, it’s all overwhelming. Hal stops fighting.

Sinestro relieves the pressure on Hal’s throat and Hal gasps deeply, choking on fresh air. His vision swims, as does his mind. Adrenaline spikes and he nearly cries from how good it feels. He’s rock hard and he can _feel_ his cock leaking precome like it’s a faucet. He quivers beneath the weight of Sinestro. He’s unsteady, and when Sinestro’s hands make their way back against his throat, it’s almost as if it’s a blessing.

It’s an odd sensation. He knows he’s being choked but it’s such a gradual thing he barely notices until one labored inhale is incapable of returning to exhalation. His eyes are locked onto Sinestro’s and he feels himself smiling up at him. What they’re doing is dangerous and maybe that’s why Hal gets into it so much, bringing his hands up to trace around wrists that are surprisingly delicate in comparison to the rest of Sinestro’s body.

There’s a trust there that Hal didn’t know existed until just now, and he starts moving with the alien, rutting up against Sinestro, savoring the slide of their cocks against each other and the sweet surrender as Sinestro takes him back and forth between terrifying desperation and the euphoria of surviving near death. He’s on the ground, but he’s flying.

He doesn’t feel any sort of buildup, but on the fourth time of sweet salvation from the clutch of unconsciousness, Hal cries out, hoarse as he comes, spattering his belly and Sinestro’s cock with it. Sinestro smirks in turn and finally takes his hands from around Hal’s neck. He sits up and Hal finds himself missing the loss of his weight and the comfort of his body heat. Moving up, he grabs his cock in his hand and starts jerking himself inches from Hal’s face and comes with a reserved grunt, painting his chest, neck, and face with white spatters.

Finished, Sinestro lets himself roll over, closer to the fire. Hal almost makes a protest, but his throat’s too raw, letting out harsh coughs rather than the words wanting to form. Already he can tell wicked bruises will soon form. _How am I gonna explain this to Tom? To Carol?_ Doubt starts to creep in. Sinestro seems to have already forgotten his presence, and that feels worse than the insults that started this whole thing.  
His fears are soon allayed, however. A large hand- _Those could have killed me tonight._ \- snakes out and pulls him over. Hal willingly lets him be dragged into the mass of the Korugaran, and they seem to just….melt together. Sinestro drags his nose against Hal’s face, trailing semen across his nose and spreading it into his skin. Hal likes the feel of it, but the action takes him by surprise. It’s…intimate in a way that he’d never attribute to Sinestro.

Eventually the other stills. The fury he had in his eyes is gone, and if the other was capable of some sort of tender feeling, the pilot supposes this is it. “We’ll start our training tomorrow,” the other murmurs next to his ear, and the pilot soon finds himself heavy, thoughts turning back to the sky, where his inspiration dances for him, where he is fluent in the tongues that matter, and where the other calls home.


End file.
